About the work

The flask passes, or it doesn't. You can almost feel the cold metal on your palm, a weight that isn’t quite heavy enough. You are in the space between gestures, between one decision and the next, between the promise of a story and the story itself. The city’s hum is a bass note to this hesitation, and the single bubble floats, oblivious, carrying a moment that only exists for as long as it doesn’t burst.